'What can I get Steve for his birthday, Dylan?'
'I don't know. Why are you asking me?'
'Because he says you're his best friend.'
I wanted to cry. The trouble was I didn't know if it was out of depression, emotion, anger or because I was offended. Steve wasn't my best friend, I don't really have one. I kind of grew out of that after High School. Jimmy, his name was. The last time I saw him he had a stall in the market, selling lighters. I didn't go up and speak to him. He was wearing pyjamas, so I don't think our years apart were very good to him. But Steve considered me his best friend. That was kind of odd, knowing that the only other 'friend' I've seen of his is a fat, tattoo'd, darts player called Les. He gets Steve cheap bootlegs from America.
'Why are you asking me now, though? You know it's his birthday today?'
'I know.' Mary said, looking around nervously. 'I've not got him anything yet.'
Well, dressing up in her wresting gear in the bedroom doesn't count as nothing. Steve was 47 today, and had spent the first two hour of his shift complaining about being in work. He could have taken it as a holiday, but his rant to Darren didn't work, Steve believes people shouldn't have to book their birthday off, it should be given to you, anyway. If that was the case, Jesus wouldn't be around on Christmas, and he's the main man that day, there'd be no point in celebrating it.
'He's got all his painting stuff, games stuff. Music stuff...Oh God, what do you get the man who's got everything?'
Some sense? A pair of scissors for his ponytail? A house without his mother in the same room?
'I don't know.'
'Well, you should!'
Mary looked really angry now. If it wasn't for me knowing about her wrestling skills I'd have laughed in her face. I didn't want a body slam or a steel chair to the head. Or, even worse, Scary Mary's finishing move: The Scary Bomb. If you don't know what that involves, count yourself lucky.
'You could take him out to a lovely restaurant.' I suggested.
'Good thinking.'
'Isn't there one in town...that one that's in a dungeon or something?'
'Dave's Dungeon!' She pointed at me with a smile.'
'Yeah! Looks really Gothic...'
'Yeah, good idea. I don't think he's been before.'
Not unless it was with his mother. Even then she'd probably hold his hand. Steve made his way down from his lunch break, still with a face like a bulldog's arse chewing a wasp in an ugly tree.
'There's the birthday boy.' Mary held out her arms.
'He still won't let me go.'
'Steve, we've told you. Birthday's aren't holidays automatically. Do I have to explain the Jesus thing again?'
'No, no.' Steve grimaced.
'Anyway, it's time to tell you about your birthday present!'
'But, you've already given it to me.'
'Besides the wrestling gear.' Mary tried to whisper. 'We are going for a meal at....drum role please...'
Mary looked at me, expecting a drum role. So I tired, pushing air through my gritted teeth and shaking my head a bit. Minutes ago I was considered a best friend, now I'm the twat doing a fake drum role.
'Dave's Dungeon!'
'You've not?'
'Yes!'
'That's brilliant!'
Steve and Mary hugged a kissed a bit, making squealing noises like couples do.
'I've always knew you wanted to go!' Mary shouted.
No she didn't! I can't believe this. I know they're a couple and everything, but give credit where credit is due. If two people split the atom they'd both go the press conference. I'm not saying I want to go to Dave's Dungeon with them, it's their date. Besides, I've read two articles about food poisoning, so I think I'll give it a miss. But I still deserved a bit of credit for the idea. Mary had nothing. Besides her sweaty wrestling tights, nothing. I was lived.
'How did you know I wanted to go there?'
I had to speak first because I knew Mary would take credit. So, I went for it.
'We both came up with it. Kind of a double team.'
'Hey, you know could team up in the ring!' Steve beamed.
No, I'd get battered. Sick Vicky. Black Kath. Minger Linda. It didn't matter who.
'Well, I knew you wanted to go.' Mary tried.
'That's great.'
'Oh, come one.' I said. 'Joint effort.'
It sounds bad, thinking back. But this happens all the time to me. Even in High School, when Jimmy took credit for our primary coloured map in Geography class. Everyone knew they were my pencils we used. And it was my idea to name on the Countries in a black marker pen.
'Well, yeah. Your girlfriend. And as you said, your best friend.' Mary looked at me.
Steve looked genuinely touched.
'Well, this causes for a celebration. Me, you and Dylan at Dave's Dungeon.'
'What?' I asked.
'What?' Mary asked too.
'The three of us.'
'Oh, well. No...it's a table for two...' Mary tried.
'That can be changed. I know the owner...'
'Dave?' I asked.
'Yeah, he's a nice guy. We'll sort it out.'
Time seemed to slow down as I was trying to think myself out of this. It was my idea, after all. But I didn't want to go. I didn't want to interrupt a lovely evening out, or get food poisoning. Two very good reasons to go. But I'd argued my corner. I couldn't think of any excuse. I was going.
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